


Where The Wasteland Meets Waves

by 56leon



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: (spoilers: it's Gareth), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Death, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, M/M, Multi, Nudity, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rare Pairings, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Trust Issues, as slow as three chapters is gonna be at least, non-sexual nudity, not explicitly stated but it's Super Obvious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-01 09:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15771090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/56leon/pseuds/56leon
Summary: When Therion has troubles with his attempts to breach the black market, Tressa pitches an idea that most everybody agrees to....except for Therion himself. Trust is hard to give, after all, and he knows little to nothing about the man that Tressa considers her mentor. However, a long journey with one ex-pirate may show that he’s more worthy of Therion’s trust - and perhaps more - than anybody else.Or, Therion’s chapters 3 + 4 if Leon Bastralle was (kind of) a party member.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or or, the unabashed Theleon fic I said I would write because I have no shipping inhibitors and tumblr is full of enablers.
> 
> Therion is a rowdy boy and Leon is an ex-rowdy boy and I bet they’d look cute in a couples scarf therefore they’re perfect for each other I’m sorry. Actually, I will 100% admit that my attraction to this ship was purely a physical/aesthetic thing at first (cute men with scarves just fuck me up fam), but after writing this, I've actually come to really appreciate how their personalities and backstories bounce off of each other....in my imagination, at least! :P
> 
> This is planned to be three chapters, but I may split it into four if it gets out of hand- I've already roadmapped the whole thing honestly, all that's left is to flesh all of the scenes out.
> 
> yell at me on twitter [@homosethsual](http://www.twitter.com/homosethsual) for more fun octopath shitposts.

When Tressa initially suggests it, Therion is the first to put his foot down. Considering they're all making plans to help him with _his_ unfortunate multitude of problems, he really does think he has the right. However, the others think it's a _grand_ idea- barring Olberic, god bless his soul, but apparently democracy rules over common sense in this godforsaken mess of a group.

“I don't get why you're so upset,” Tressa chirps after the fact, frowning. “I only said he'd be helpful since he’s, you know.....broken the law before.” Even she sounds uncertain at her last few words, which makes him snort. “Either way, though, we need the help! You _know_ we do!”

Therion doesn’t need _anybody’s_ help, but he doesn’t say that out loud in order to avoid the fit that he knows Tressa would pitch. It’s been difficult acknowledging his reliance on the other seven members of their motley crew, and even now it's hard for him to voice it without adding a sarcastic quip at the end. There's a steep level of trust that they expect from him, and while he has no reason to _not_ give it, his inhibitions are hard to get rid of.

Fortunately, it seems as though Ophilia, at the very least, notices his discomfort at the conversation, and she quickly steers Tressa into the debate she and Primrose are having regarding some feminine matter, glancing at Therion apologetically. He looks at her for a single moment before turning away and instead listening to Cyrus and Olberic’s fifth conversation about Hornburg in just as many hours. Nobody's going to have the satisfaction of being acknowledged after _this_ mistake.

“It ain’t _that_ bad,” Alfyn tries to reason, even though he knows full well that Therion has tuned him out by the first word. “It ain’t like he’s gonna be here forever. Just like one a’ Phili’s followers, right?”

Therion bites back the urge to remind Alfyn that he’s hated all of Ophilia’s little _traveling buddies_ as well, and instead continues to ignore every excuse the apothecary throws at him- which is a lot, it seems, as he doesn't just stop there. “Y’know,” he’s continuing almost a mile after Therion has last tuned him in, and Therion grits his teeth in irritation. “He’s _really_ been on the up and up, I’d reckon, since Tressa says such good things about him. Not to mention, _you’ve_ changed too, haven’t you? Ever since-”

“Why should I?” He finally snaps, growling lowly so the others don’t hear their conversation in the back of the group; he can deal with comments about pirates becoming merchants all day, but one thing he does _not_ appreciate is being compared to somebody like that. Especially not when _he_ hasn’t changed at all. “Give me _one_ good reason why I should risk my own neck for a guy I’ve never met whose only saving grace is that a _kid_ trusts him.”

Alfyn seems taken aback, and a kicked puppy expression crosses his face that Therion’s pretty sure he’ll be punched for later by the others, but the question he receives as an answer hurts most of all. “Well.....don’t ya trust _us?”_

Therion promptly shuts up and says nothing else for the rest of the journey to Rippletide.

 

* * *

 

 

A pirate is just a thief with a big boat, and Therion still doesn't know why Tressa trusts a man who used to be the worst pirate of them all, even if he’s less vocal about his opinions after Alfyn’s low blow. He’s never seen her interact with him; hell, he’s never even _met_ the man, only heard about him - extensively from Tressa, and briefly from strangers in taverns - but warning bells go off as soon as he sees the ship. It’s fluffed up, nice and shiny for the public, but no amount of paint and nails can hide the scars of portholes that have been used for cannonfire one too many times. The ship is a pirate’s treasure itself, shiny and gold and probably boobytrapped beyond belief.

The others are waiting in the tavern in town, which means they lack the usual manpower, but Tressa approaches it without a concern in the world; Therion wonders if she’s suicidal, or just that naive. “Mister Leon! Are you here?”

“For you, lass, always.” The reply comes from an open porthole near the stern, and both she and Therion turn to see a blond head poking out, waving one gloved hand at them. “And it looks like you brought a friend? Give me a second and I’ll be right out.” He disappears from view, but his voice is still heard as he shouts orders to his crew inside, and he eventually appears on deck before jumping from the railing straight into the dock.

Therion has to wonder if it's a power move, or if Leon is just always that...... _extravagant._ “He was _definitely_ a pirate at some point,” he stage-whispers to Tressa, not doing anything to hide his aggravation. “Nobody normal is that dramatic on purpose.” She scowls and slaps his arm in reply before returning Leon's soft smile with a blinding grin of her own.

“Are you free? I mean, do you have anything planned? I want to talk business.” That earns an interested hum from Leon as he glances between the two of them. For all of his confidence, Therion suddenly feels very outmatched, and he breathes out sharply and straightens his shoulders to regain his composure. “Oh, this is my traveling buddy, by the way,” Tressa continues, noticing the way he makes himself appear larger as he’s sized up. He’s glad she’s giving him the opportunity to introduce himself rather than give out his name willy-nilly, but he also knows that, if he has his way, he never will. “He's part of the bargain. Kind of.”

That just seems to pique his interest even more. “I don't deal in human trafficking, lass,” he comments, but he doesn't seem to be entertaining the idea seriously at all. “I'm assuming this is going to be a favor for a friend?”

“Acquaintance,” Therion finally interjects, keeping his intense stare pinned on Leon. He doesn't want to appear as upset as he feels, but rather he feels the need to assert his dominance in the situation; after all, Leon is unsolicited help as far as Therion is concerned, and he wants to make sure the other knows it. “And I don't need any favors. Come on, Tress, we're-"

“Why do you hate him so much?” Tressa’s question, directed at Therion himself, seems to startle both of them, but why Leon would be surprised at the inquiry is beyond him. “Why can’t you just admit that you’re out of your league? There’s nothing wrong with needing help!”

Therion doesn't have the heart to answer, not when he has half a mind to scream and the other half just wants to run away from his problems, but it seems like he doesn't have to as Leon steps in. “Tressa, you may have no qualms asking for help, but if this is his problem, then perhaps you should let him figure it out himself.” Although he knows Leon is just giving him an out, the wording makes him bristle, and he glares at Leon before turning away, back down the dock. “If you need me, I’ll be here,” he hears Leon tell Tressa apologetically as he stalks off.

“She _won’t,”_ he can’t help but shoot back despite not being addressed himself, and he turns his head one last time to see them both looking at him, Leon in concern and Tressa in muted outrage. He has the last word, and he should be smug about it, but there’s a small, self-loathing part of him that complains that he’s just thrown away the last lifeline he has left, and as it grows louder, he feels even more compelled to drown it out with sarcastic retorts aimed at the girl he trusts and the man that she’s forced upon him.

“And neither will I.”

* * *

 

 

No matter how many ideas he has, how many plans he formulates or disguises he attempts to create, Therion knows he's exhausted his resources, even further than any other failure on his part has ever gone before. The whole city of Wellspring is on edge around him, and he can't get close enough to anybody to steal one of their masks; usually he would just bribe the bartender to put in a good word for him, but it’s a moot point when the bartender is on _their_ side, and no amount of whiskey purchases will ever get Therion in his good graces again. It’s his fault to begin with, and he knows he deserves it for being reckless, but the bitter pill is that he _does_ need outside assistance.

It takes a long time to swallow it, and even longer to act on it; several hours of wallowing in self-pity later, it's long past twilight and he finally decides to take another walk down the pier. Tressa is long gone, having accompanied Alfyn and H’aanit to search for medicinal herbs to cool off after their confrontation, and he's grateful for that as he spots Leon sitting on the deck of his ship by himself. He seems to be poring over something by the wheel, hands pressed firmly against a wooden desk-like surface as he leans over it.

Therion doesn't know how to approach the captain, not after his outburst that afternoon, and so he just stands awkwardly in the shadows of another ship, trying to think of a way to broach the topic. Unfortunately, it seems as though Leon's instinct is sharper than Theron had taken into account as his head raises and he stares down the dock. “If you're here for trouble, then you've come to the wrong ship.” Therion’s heart stutters for a brief moment, panic making him hold his breath for a split second before he realizes that Leon has given a general warning and his location isn't actually compromised. Still, there's no point in hiding any longer when Leon is aware of _somebody's_ presence, and so he steps away from the ship; Leon’s expression melts from suspicion to recognition almost immediately upon seeing him. “Tressa’s lad, aren't you? I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“ _Acquaintance,_ ” he grinds out, and Leon relaxes even further. Therion almost takes him for a fool for trusting him on that alone, but decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth and instead steps closer, watching Leon closely as he seems absolutely unperturbed by his appearance. “And you're her.....mentor, or something.”

He's sure that Leon will want to drop the idle chatter and cut straight to the chase, but he's surprised when he just nods and replies. “Something of the sort, aye. I'd say she's taught me just as much as I’ve taught her at this point, though.” He laughs to himself before turning that chuckling smile back to Therion. “But you probably already know that.....?”

He hesitates before replying to the obvious inquiry. “Therion.” Leon’s eyebrows raise almost comically, and Therion isn't sure if it's nervousness or pride coursing through his veins. He doesn’t give his name out so loosely - the risk is too high when he’s wanted for grand larceny on an obscene level - and seeing the look on Leon’s face reminds him that he’s still high profile, even if just by name.

“That's a name I never thought I'd personally acquaint myself with,” he muses, “and even if I did, in completely different circumstances.” His eyebrows draw together in thought as he looks first at the desk he’s bracing himself against, then back at Therion. There’s hesitation in his voice, but not in his words. “Come aboard, lad; if you have anything to say, it’s surely nothing for prying ears.”

For all of the mistakes that Therion has made over the years, he truly believes this is the largest one to date as he complies, grabbing a rope hanging down from the side rather than waiting for Leon to lower the gangplank. The captain has barely taken a couple steps away from the desk by the time Therion’s feet are planted firmly on the deck, and there's a look on Leon's face that makes Therion wonder if he had been expecting as much. “I'm not here to steal anything,” he grouses at the serious gaze that Leon pins on him. As if to prove his point, he takes a few steps to the right, _away_ from the closest treasure on board- a painting that looks to be carefully crafted and possibly valuable for its sentimentality. “If I was, your ship would be halfway out the channel by now.”

“It’s not that,” is Leon’s reply, although he _does_ take a more relaxed stance, betraying half of his intentions. Not that Therion blames him- after all, a thief is a thief, and treasure is treasure. Maybe some other day, he would come back to swipe a few trinkets from the floating bank. “You’d have to be deaf to not know that you’re one of Orsterra’s most wanted right now, lad.” Therion doesn’t know where he’s going with this. Perhaps it’s a warning that Leon isn’t afraid to turn him in, or maybe it’s a note at the odd role reversal they seem to be playing, what with Leon giving up his own life of crime around the same time that Therion had started his. However, an underhanded compliment isn’t what he expects next. “You’re slippery enough to get in and out of any situation you want.....so why are you coming to me?”

Therion grits his teeth, closes his eyes to try and ease away the anger, discomfort, _everything_ surrounding this situation, and breathes.

“It’s a long story.”

* * *

 

 

“Black market?” Leon laughs as soon as the _long story_ in question is explained, which would offend Therion if he isn't already so tired from admitting everything else, including sparse details as to the _what_ and the _why_ . They’ve long since relocated from the deck to the crew quarters, which are unsurprisingly empty as Therion had seen the rest of his crew spending their coin without a care in the tavern before he had left. “No pirate worth his sea salt _hasn’t_ been to the black market before. It’s been a few years,” that's putting it lightly since it's been at least a _decade_ since the last rumor about him surfaced and he knows it, “but I can probably scrape by.” He frowns a bit, though, tilting his head towards Therion and leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees as he speaks. “Why are you asking me specifically, though, lad? Any other thief would probably kill for a chance to work with you.”

He still doesn’t want to admit that he’s having trouble, and the compliment is almost backhanded enough for Therion to rescind his request, but he holds on. “I.....don’t play well with others.” It’s only a half lie, but he knows that being able to tolerate Tressa, of all people, is a heavy blow against the claim. In fact, if Leon is to meet the others - each of them ranging in personality and volume - he’d understand immediately how much Therion is stretching the truth. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t want help at all.” He pauses a moment before frowning and looking away. He still doesn’t want it, but _want_ and _need_ are two completely different spectrums and Therion is finally coming to terms with that. “Tress was the one who suggested you.”

There’s a small snort, and Therion looks back up to see Leon covering his mouth with one hand; a small part of his mind notes how weird it is to see a former pirate acting so daintily. While everything he’s seen of Leon has been sincere, there’s still a voice in his mind questioning everything he does as an act. “You’re very close with the lass, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” he replies smoothly. “We have a mutual contract.” He’s still hesitant to call Tressa - or the others - his friend, and so he settles on another half-lie. He seems to be good at those. “Stop changing the subject. Are you going to help or not?”

Leon grows quiet for a moment and looks around the cabin before eventually nodding. “Aye, I’ll help. The crew’s been growing stale; a few weeks without me barkin’ orders will do them some good, I’d say.” Therion breathes out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “So what do you think are decent terms?”

Leon kicks one leg over the other and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. If there’s one thing that Therion has learned about him, it’s that he’s physically expressive, which is a courageous - if not stupid - thing for a merchant to be. As a thief, he knows not to show all of his tells, but perhaps being a pirate is different. Either way, it’s easy to tell that Leon is at least interested in seeing his story to its conclusion, which will make it easier to haggle with him if it comes to that.

“I need you to..... _help_ me retrieve the emerald dragonstone and return it to Ravus Manor.” It’s a simple request, one that starts and ends in Wellspring and fulfills Therion’s goal to enter the black market as well as ensure Leon’s assistance in any fights if things are to go south. “Unless you already have other terms you want to settle on?”

“That sounds fine,” Leon hums in reply, and Therion’s almost surprised at how easily he accepts the offer despite the vague terms. “I’ll let my crew know not to expect me for a few weeks, then? That’s quite a travelling distance you’ve put out there.”

“Tell that to whoever stole the damn thing,” Therion snorts; he doesn’t like it either, but at least moving between cities is easier for a wandering thief than being sedentary. “Will your crew be okay without their fearless leader for a while?”

Leon completely ignores the sarcasm in his question. “It won’t be the first time, and they’re all capable men. The worst thing they can do is get drunk and pass out on the deck.” He pauses for a moment, thinks deeply, and then continues. “In fact, that’s what they do when I’m here regardless. It’ll be fine.”

 _“Right.”_   Therion has more questions - what his relationship is with his crew, how he can trust them to take care of his ship and everything on it, why he’s so eager to help in the first place - but he pushes them down and instead begins to offer compensation. “So your side of the deal-”

“Oh, don’t worry about payment.” Once more, Leon takes Therion by surprise, something that he seems to be very good at. “Tressa already has everything sorted out.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I assure you I’m not.” There’s a knowing smile playing on his lips as he speaks. “She hoped you would come back despite your stubbornness, and bargained with me in your stead.”

Therion is speechless; it’s a very Tressa thing to do, yes, but he still can’t believe her audacity. Finally, he manages to snap his mouth shut. “Fine. That just makes it easier for me.” He hates being indebted to people - he hardly ever is, considering his profession - and silently makes a note in his mind to never bring it up to her first, lest she ask for repayment. He stands up, glancing at Leon one last time before making for the stairs that lead him up to the deck. “.....thanks. For the trade.”

Leon laughs once more. “Of course. You’re welcome.....for the trade. I’ll see you tomorrow then, lad.”

“....right. See you tomorrow.”

Even as he makes his way back up onto the deck and then down the pier, feet leading him straight back to the inn with the faint scent of sea salt clinging to his scarf, he can’t help but feel that he’s gotten Leon - and himself - involved in far more than he’s bargained for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this chapter is 8k by itself and I'm dying!! :D
> 
> Honestly, I basically rearranged all the events of CH3, as well as destroyed what little of Gareth's characterization exists in canon, in an attempt to make everything have more of an emotional impact on Therion. Also, I haven't even played Phili's CH2 so her characterization might be horrid; I apologize in advance.
> 
> This chapter - like all of my chapters - is unbeta'd, but seeing as it's midnight o' clock, I'm publishing this in a delirious tizzy and I'm not as confident in this chapter as I usually am, I'd definitely like some more feedback on it than usual.

The group had made plans to leave by early morning, hoping to get back to Wellspring as soon as possible for Therion to execute another failing plan, but he refuses to be woken up for several hours past their initial departure time. He vaguely remembers Olberic offering to pick him up and carry him out of the building, but fortunately Ophilia and Primrose convince the knight to leave him alone, for which Therion is grateful.

When he _ does _ awaken, he ambles down into the common room of the inn, eyes still blurry and mouth twisted into a sleep-ridden scowl. If there's one thing that Therion is  _ not _ , it's a morning person. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Primrose says from where she’s seated at a round table, half of a roll hanging loosely from her hand. “We were just thinking of leaving without you.”

“I would have thanked you,” he shoots back, taking an apple from the basket of fruits between her and Ophilia. On the other side of Prim is Tressa, but she doesn’t even bother looking at him; she’s probably still mad about the afternoon before, and he can’t quite say he blames her anymore. Instead of trying to press the matters of last night - he knows it’s bound to get cleared up soon, anyways - he instead reaches across Prim to steal Tressa’s hat. “You’re losing your edge, Tress.”

“Hey-!” She immediately whirls around, and his stomach drops at the slight redness around her eyes, but he says nothing of it as he keeps her hat just beyond her reach. She jumps for it, and he moves back, holding it above his head. “Therion,  _ stop _ it, I’m really not in the mood to play games today!”

“Seems like you are to me,” he replies blandly even as he teases her. If he keeps dwelling on how sad she looks, he’s bound to give in to his own guilt, and it’s still easier to play the role of the group’s asshole rather than to confront his own wrongdoings.

Fortunately, it doesn’t seem like he has to play much longer, as the door to the inn opens with a gentle creak- it’s not loud enough to alert Tressa, whose back is to the door, but Therion’s eyes flicker up to lock with Leon’s momentarily before he sets Tressa’s hat back atop her head. She’s still complaining at him as she fixes it, and still has yet to notice the merchant in the doorway who’s staring directly at the two of them.

H’aanit and Olberic sense him almost immediately, which is to be expected as they’re the most on guard at all times; it doesn’t help that his comandeering aura does little to mask his presence. Linde’s soft growl alerts Primrose and Ophilia as well, while Alfyn and Cyrus are too absorbed in their own conversation to pay attention to the newcomer. “This is quite the friendly gathering. I hope I'm not interrupting anything, lad.”

“Actually, you’re late, Bastralle.”

“Mister Leon?!” Tressa yelps as soon as she hears his voice, attracting the attention of both Cyrus and Alfyn as well, and she turns to see him leaning against the the doorway, with a knapsack slung over his shoulder and his harpoon spear strapped to his back. She’s shocked, but surprisingly not smug like Therion had expected, as she looks between him and Therion. “You’re actually coming with us?”

He turns his attention to Tressa and laughs. “Aye, lass. Me and your friend here struck a bargain- if you don’t mind, of course.” His eyes sweep over the group, each of them giving varying levels of enthusiasm, from H’aanit’s small nod to Alfyn’s massive grin and thumbs up.

“I was the one who told him to be here,” Therion adds as Tressa looks straight at him with doubt still etched into her eyes. “Don’t think too hard, you’ll kill your last brain cell.” She puffs up slightly, but there’s no fight in her anymore; she’s undoubtedly gladder for Leon to be there than she is mad at Therion anymore. In fact, the entire inn seems far more cheerful than before, or at least less burdened by Therion’s dramatic outburst the night prior.

A small tug of some unknown emotion hits him at the realization, but he pushes it down in favor of gesturing towards the door with a tilt of his head. There’s no time to think about feelings, even less so when Leon is only supposed to stick around until Therion’s agenda is fulfilled. After this, it’s all back to normal.

After this.....

“So, are we ready to hit the road?”

 

* * *

 

Therion would like to say that the trip from Rippletide to Wellspring is silent, but he would be a liar. The others are absolutely  _ enamored _ with Leon, listening to his stories from the high seas. He speaks of adventures beyond the seas of Orsterra and swashbuckling pirates- and Therion is almost offended at how much the others take a liking to him.

He’s in the middle of a tale about his  _ first _ encounter with a kraken - most likely embellished, but the others don’t seem to mind - when Primrose finally sidles up to Therion and bumps shoulders with him. “Well aren’t you the life of the party,” she says with an amused snort, smirking when he levels her with an unimpressed glare.

“Apologies if I’m not interested in  _ storytime, _ your highness,” he shoots back, his irritation only growing more obvious when she laughs in response. “We’re here to finish a job, not socialize.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Prim muses, watching the way the others gasp and laugh along with Leon’s latest tale. “Even Ophilia seems to be having a grand old time, and you know how she feels about  _ criminals _ .” Those words serve no purpose other than to rile Therion up, and he knows it, but he still can’t help but scowl and tense up, giving her just the reaction she wants. “You know, it’s not a weakness to admit that you’re jealous.”

That single word causes Therion to stop altogether, hands curling into fists at his side as he tries to compose himself. “I’m not  _ jealous.” _ he grinds out before picking up the pace- it’s only partially to catch up with the others, and Primrose has to jog to keep up with him. “You think I care about something like that?” 

She doesn’t answer, and he knows it’s because she does. She isn’t wrong, either, which ticks him off even more. “You’re you, Therion,” she says finally, leveling him with a look that reminds him that he’s an idiot for fighting so hard against the only people on his side. “Only you can tell what you care about.”

He says nothing in reply, and waits until she finally grows tired of the silence and joins the others to let out a deep exhale. Being read like a book.....it’s not a comfortable feeling, and it doesn’t help that the one reading him has no problems giving him an in-depth review of his own clusterfuck of emotions.

He pulls himself out of his thoughts just in time to see Leon glancing back at him as the others all talk animatedly about something involving a sea serpent and five stones of gunpowder, and he takes the moment to raise an eyebrow at him. The answer he receives in reply is also non-verbal, a small head-tilt offering him a chance to join their conversation. He doesn’t know if he should take it.

“Are you ready to join us, o’ quiet one?” Primrose notices their staring contest and jumps in- whether it’s to encourage him or taunt him, Therion still can’t tell, but he grumbles slightly and forces himself in between her and Leon. He ignores the way Leon nudges him slightly and gives him a slight frown, and instead tunes into their ongoing conversation, making snippy remarks every so often to prove - to Primrose, at the very least, if not the others who are now staring at him as well - that he’s attempting to be sociable.

If he’s learned anything from this debacle of a journey so far, it’s that his stubbornness never wins.

 

* * *

 

Therion still isn’t faring any better by the time they get to Wellspring, but at least Primrose has decided to stop pestering him about his asocial tendencies. Leon, on the other hand, had shot him several questioning glances during the trip, but Therion brushed them all off, and he continues to do so even as they approach the town’s tavern.

If it were any other town, he’d have barged in and grabbed a drink to get his mind off of his frustrations, but the bartender is still wary of him, and so he begrudgingly concedes to Leon; it’s only the two of them, and the other seven have gone to the inn to rest for a moment before they make the trek to the black market. “You don’t have to be so unsure of yourself, lad,” is Leon’s only remark at the turn of events.

“I’ve never been more sure of myself in my life,” he retorts, crossing his arms under his mantle. It’s a lie, of course, but if he can bluff his way through this then all is fine. As it is, Leon seems to take his words for face value - whether he believes them or not, Therion can’t bring it in himself to care - and simply nods before opening the door to the tavern.

It’s empty, as to be expected for a bar in the early morning, and the bartender hones in on them almost immediately, a range of emotions passing over his face in rapid succession. He sees Therion first, but irritated anger is replaced by surprise, confusion and maybe even fear as he sees who’s standing in front of him. “Captain,” he says aloud, eyes flickering between Leon and him. “It’s been a while. What can I do you for?”

“I think you know,” Leon says casually, leaning on the table, and Therion has to admit that he’s surprised how he can go from friendly to intimidating at the drop of a hat. “I’m gonna need to borrow somethin’ from ya.” He gestures vaguely, and the bartender seems to understand, even though he frowns and tries to object.

“Captain, what about the brat-”

That earns a snort from Therion and a deep frown from Leon. “This  _ brat _ is with me, unless there’s a problem.”

O-Of course not, sir.” He looks around to make sure nobody else is in the tavern before pulling out two conspicuous black masks. Therion has to admit that Leon’s already far since fulfilled whatever Tressa had bribed him with, just by making it so  _ simple _ to take what Therion had been unsuccessful in stealing- but the smug look that Leon shoots him just makes him scowl and take back whatever appreciative thought he may have had.

“Don’t be like that, lad,” he laughs. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?” 

Therion shrugs and turns away in reply. “Don’t get cocky, our job’s only half done.”

“Aye, but it’s half more than it was before.” Therion watches Leon shoot another glance and nod at the barkeep before he stalks back out of the tavern. The others are already surprisingly out of the inn, and he and Leon meet them halfway, the black market masks stowed safely in the folds of their shirts.

“So,” he starts as soon as they’re all caught up. Everybody’s in top form, and now with Leon’s help, they can finally move to the next phase of the plan.

“Who’s ready to steal shit?”

 

* * *

 

The road to the black market is sparsely occupied, and it’s not until they get to the entrance that they’re met with the real challenge. It’s blocked by two guards that Therion’s not to keen on fighting; fortunately, with Leon’s help, they won’t have to, but it also means that they’re limited on how many people can actually get in with the masks alone.

“You stay out here,” he says to the rest of the group barring Leon, and Tressa’s the only one who complains half-heartedly as the others easily agree. If everything goes smoothly, it should just be an in-and-out heist; grab the dragonstone and run. They all realize that two people will attract less attention than all nine, and there are only enough masks for Therion and Leon to begin with. After a brief rundown -  _ don’t leave until they return, if it takes longer than two hours, assume they’re dead _ \- they approach the entrance, easily slipping inside once the guards step aside.

For as much authority ‘Captain Bastralle’ has as a merchant, something changes as soon as he steps foot in that cave; with the way he holds himself, nobody would ever think that Leon has hung up his tricorne. “Ye call these  _ treasures _ ,” he quips, hand on his hip as he looks out into the cavern filled to the brim with luxurious, illegally obtained goods. “I’ve seen brighter gems on a whale’s back fin.”

Therion snorts from next to him in reply, arms crossed under his mantle. Leon sure has the  _ bravado _ to match the underworld, and now he can see exactly why he’s an equally talented merchant. The trick to haggling is to never show your cards, and the black market is no different; with the way he speaks, it’s easy to be convinced that Leon has a royal flush. “Makes our job easier,” he mutters, keeping an eye out for the emerald dragonstone. “It'll probably be further inside- nobody puts their best wares where they can get lost.”

“Right you are,” Leon agrees, and they make their way through the cave; they’re not stopped once, but Therion can’t help but tense up at the whispers that circulate around them. Despite the fact that they’re all aimed at Leon and his sudden return to the underground, Therion still can’t help but feel targeted as well. Leon, unfortunately, seems to notice, and keeps his voice low as he addresses him. “Are you all right, lad?”

“I’m fine,” Therion replies, maintaining his cool facade in his voice if not his aura. “Just not used to being in the spotlight.”

Leon hums in response. “Pirates an’ thieves are cut from more different cloth than you think.”

“No kidding.” He can see it now; whereas he’s used to skulking in the shadows and barely leaving a trace other than a sarcastic thank you note with his name on it - and even  _ that’s _ uncharacteristic for most other thieves who  _ don’t _ want a reputation - Leon is loud and proud, flaunting his reputation to get his way. In fact, as far as criminals in general go, he’s less like Therion and more like-

His thoughts are interrupted at just the right moment by a shout, and he and Leon glance at each other before running for the source of the noise. Further in the cavern, torchlight bounces off of a distinctly green orb, and Therion curses under his breath as he realizes that the situation is far more convoluted than it should be.

“We’ll be takin’ this,” a particularly loud bandit cackles as the emerald dragonstone glitters in his hand. There’s a man kneeling in front of him, Therion assumes the merchant originally in possession of the dragonstone, and he’s kicked down by one of the bandit’s friends as masked buyers run away from the scene. Leon makes to intervene, but Therion stays behind, ducking behind a large crate to keep himself out of view. It's a good idea, too, as the one holding the dragonstone zeroes in on Leon immediately. “Oi, you lookin’ for a fight too?”

The two others accompanying him immediately get into battle stances as he dashes into the darkness further beyond, and Leon lets out a  _ tsk _ of annoyance. “Here to keep me busy, aye?” They supply him no answer and instead rush at him; there's a fleeting moment before they make contact that Therion has half a mind to jump out there himself, but his worries are unwarranted as Leon gracefully dodges one of the thieves, pushing him to the ground behind him, before pulling out his harpoon and ramming the blunt end into the stomach of the other. He’s down almost immediately, the wind knocked out of him, but the other doesn’t relent and instead stands up to try and slash at Leon’s back-

-but he’s stopped immediately by the dagger sticking out of his own back, and collapses to the ground as Leon stares beyond him where Therion has his hand outstretched. “You’re welcome,” he mutters before standing up from his hiding spot and walking over to retrieve his dagger from the unconscious - and rapidly bleeding - rogue; although he knows that Leon hadn’t needed the assistance, he still can’t help but toss a sarcastic line at the other.

Leon just frowns before staring into the depths of the cave where the assumed leader - holding the dragonstone - had fled. “Are you ready for a chase, lad?”

“Do I have a choice?” His response is resigned, but he’s actually looking forward to it, if he has to be honest with himself; after seeing Leon in movement, he’s sure that they’ll get the dragonstone back without a hitch. “Let’s just hurry up.”

They move swiftly but silently, weapons at the ready as they follow the same path that the dragonstone holder had disappeared down. There’s no sound but the softest footsteps, and Therion can’t even hear Leon or himself breathe.

However, things can always change drastically in an instant, and this instant is no different as soft words begin to echo through the caverns. It means they’re closer to a clearing, and while both voices are recognizable, Therion can only pinpoint one as the thief they had dealt with before.

It isn’t until they’re much closer and Therion can see the whole party, illuminated by torchlight, that he realizes why the other voice sounds so familiar. Without thinking, he steps forward, out of the darkness that Leon remains shrouded by, and suddenly all eyes are him.

He can barely move, pinned by one particular pair that he hasn’t seen since their owners had tried to end his life. However, he can’t  _ not _ do anything, and so his mouth moves for him. “Long time no see....partner.”

“Aye,” Darius’s reply is deceptively casual, and his eyes fill with surprise, followed shortly by malice. “Now that’s a face I haven’t seen in a while. Thought I’d gotten rid of it, at tha very least.”

Therion’s vision swims, his mind trying to reconcile the familiar face in front of him with the last time he had seen it. It doesn’t help in the moment, and he remains on autopilot despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to take action. “Darius, give me the dragonstone.”

It’s all he can do to voice his demands, and it seems as though Darius sees through his bluff as a loud laugh leaves his mouth before any compliances do. “Still haven’t learned, ‘ave ya, tea leaf? Askin’ nicely was never yer style.” His grinning snarl makes Therion’s stomach drop like a rock. “Boys, take care a’ both of ‘em.”

Two particularly large rogues step up in front of Darius and brandish their daggers with reckless abandon in their eyes; it’s not hard to tell that they’re more experienced than the fools he and Leon had encountered before, but Therion isn’t paying attention as his head still buzzes with so many unwanted thoughts that it almost shuts down on itself.

“Don’t stop ‘til one of you are dead.”

Darius sweeps out of the clearing, and after a single beat of silence, the two goons race towards Therion. However, Leon is the first to clash with them, his harpoon coming up to block simultaneous attacks as he darts out from the darkness. “Damnit, lad, get your head together!”

The parry gives Therion enough time to recover from his paralysis, and he ducks under Leon’s spear, spinning as he stands and embedding his dagger deep into the neck of one of the rogues. The other retaliates quickly, dragging his dagger against the shaft of the harpoon before swinging it around, aimed directly at Therion’s head.

It doesn’t miss completely, and Therion curses as he pulls his head back, leaving a long, shallow cut on his forehead. The other thief doesn’t have a chance at a second attack, however, as Leon quickly sweeps him off of his feet, sending him crashing to the floor, and jabs his harpoon at him twice, the spearhead piercing his kneecap before the blunt end to his forehead knocks him out.

It’s a quick battle, but Therion’s mind is completely blank throughout the whole encounter, and he doesn’t realize he’s acted until Leon snaps his fingers in front of him, bringing him back to reality. “Therion, listen. Are you okay, lad?”

“Leon.” The sudden authority in his voice stops Leon in his tracks, and Therion steels himself to level the merchant with a commanding look that takes every ounce in his body to maintain after the shock of the initial encounter. “Go back for the others. Meet me ahead.”

His whole body is shaking, and he doesn’t know how long he can maintain eye contact before he has to break it off himself. Fortunately, Leon nods tersely and bolts for the entrance, which gives Therion just enough reprieve to stagger away from the unconscious bodies on the ground and collapse to his knees for a brief moment. He’s shaken, even if he doesn’t want to show  _ or _ admit it, and he’s surprised he had managed to last that long as it was. As it  _ is, _ he knows he’s going to need help if it all culminates into a fight with Darius; he may be driven by emotions, but his emotions are currently whirling in a frenzy, memories of a cliff juxtaposing over the current backdrop and the pain in his side, throbbing from bad memories. He would be an idiot to  _ not _ ask Leon to gather the others.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have long to wait around and he knows it, and so he shakily stands up and forces his feet to carry him further into the tunnel. They’ve already gone ahead, and Therion knows he’ll never catch up with them by following the same path, but the dim lighting of torches on cave walls alerts him to several other options, and he begins traversing the winding tunnels in hopes of cutting Darius off before he can disappear again.

At the very least, the silence and darkness give Therion a chance to recover from the reunion, and the weariness drains out of him, just to be replaced by anger and disgust. His pace is a brisk walk, but his feet still feel like they’re full of lead, dragging him slower and keeping him away from a confrontation he’s been training for ever since he almost died. He doesn’t know if he’s ready or not, and the feeling in his stomach keeps bobbing up and down like it can’t make up his mind, but he doesn’t have a choice anymore, and so he keeps walking.

It feels like hours until he finally hears another sign of life, but it comes from behind him- several sets of footsteps that make him flinch and dive into the shadows. However, as the figures come into sight, he realizes that Leon is leading the group. He relaxes as much as he can, considering the circumstances, and falls into step with him ahead of the others. “You’re late.”

Leon gives him a look that he can’t - or refuses to - decipher. “Are you okay now, lad?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but Leon knows the true answer regardless. “It doesn’t matter,” he says finally. “All we have to do is get the dragonstone.” He receives no response, and assumes that this particular conversation is over; however, with the way Leon keeps looking at him, he knows there are more conversations to follow.

He can’t say he’s looking forward to it.

Whatever anybody else may say, however, is put on hold as they reach another clearing with the same face of betrayal as before, and this time Therion is at least more emotionally prepared than before, if just barely.  _ “Darius!”  _ The name still tears out of his voice in a loud growl before he can stop himself. The others are behind him, barely a few steps behind, but he can barely hear their whispers of warning -  _ Therion, what are you doing? Get away from there! _ \- over the blood rushing through his ears. 

He barely gets acknowledged this time, as if Darius has already grown tired of his presence again. Instead of even waiting for Therion to race at him, he disappears from the cave into the desert, and Therion grits his teeth as two darkly-clothed rogues move to block the exit. “Yer my opponent this time, failure,” Gareth barks out, stepping up to stand where Darius was moments before. 

The others finally come out of their hiding spots, fanning out around Therion, but he holds up a hand to keep them from approaching. “And you’re mine,” he snarls at Gareth. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Darius how useful you were when I kick his ass, too.” Rogues surround them, but just like Therion, Gareth signals for them to stay back. It’s obviously personal for both of them.

“I’ll tell him myself, thanks.” There’s a long pause in which they size each other up, until Gareth points his dagger loosely at him and smirks again. “Are ya gonna fight, or are you just as bad at  _ that _ as you are at dying?”

One final growl leaves Therion as he charges, and all hell breaks loose.

 

* * *

 

The taunts had been enough to provoke Therion to action, but if he has to be honest, Gareth isn’t  _ strong. _ He’s quick on his feet and can read the battle, but his attacks are easy to evade and the slashes that  _ do _ land are barely nicks compared to the deep scars in Therion’s skin. Either way, it’s disappointment, in Gareth for being so incompetent or in Darius for replacing him with a half-baked lackey, that settles deeply in Therion’s chest after the initial rage has worn off. Their fight is one-on-one as promised, all of the other bandits are easily held at bay by his allies, and Therion is almost ready to deliver a final flurry of blows to end it- when a startled yelp catches his attention.

His head whips around to see Ophilia cornered by two thieves, and curses when he realizes that everybody’s been spread too thin around the large cavern. H’aanit is easily dispatching her opponents, but they keep converging on her and she has her hands full with trying to protect Primrose as she casts augmenting spells for the others. Tressa is back to back with Olberic, and Cyrus, Alfyn and Leon are preoccupied as they each get ganged up on separately. As it is, Therion is surprised that he’s being taken on solo, but now it seems as though he’s underestimated Gareth....and his allies are paying the price.

Gareth seems to know this too, and his mouth splits into a wide, mocking grin as Therion growls at him. “Looks like yer little band ain’t doin’ so hot. What’re ya goin’ ta do now, thie-  _ fuck! _ ”

He’s completely taken aback by the straight punch delivered directly to his nose, but Therion has no time to savor the reaction as he immediately turns on his heel and dashes towards the source of the noise. “Ophilia-!”

“Therion?!” She’s just as surprised to see him as the bandits in front of her, and he takes the opportunity to cut one of them down, burying his dagger into one’s stomach before pulling Ophilia away from the other. “What are you- what about Gareth?”

“Fuck Gareth and maybe pay attention to your surroundings,” he spits out, cutting down another bandit who makes the mistake of bumping into him after being hit by one of Cyrus’s stray lightning bolts. They duck and weave between each of their allies and their respective battles, and Therion looks back every so often to see Ophilia scanning the room, trying to see which of their allies needs healing.

He can only run for so long, and he still has to deal with Gareth - Therion can see him cursing and trying to locate him in the crowd - and so he zeroes in on the closest person who seems to be holding back their enemies well enough.

Leon.

“Bastralle,” he shouts, and the merchant looks up in surprise from where he’s incapacitating another thief as Therion shoves Ophilia towards him. “Take care of her. Ophilia, watch out for him and by the gods,  _ don’t leave his side. _ ”

Before either of them can reply, he’s already darting back out into the fight; he may not trust Leon on personal matters, but if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he’s not stupid enough to get them  _ both _ killed.

Unfortunately, Gareth finds him first, and manages a slash at his chest- it barely scrapes past Therion’s mantle, but leaves a tear that he knows he’ll have to fix later. It also catches Therion off-guard, and he stumbles back, dropping to one knee to steady himself. “Watch yerself,” Gareth growls as he steps closer, swiping at Therion. He responds in kind, parrying when he can and trying to dodge when he can’t, but it’s hard on one leg, and he cringes as Gareth pressures him, his dagger pressing against Therion’s until his own blade is inches away from his neck. “Ya ready to call it quits yet, failure?”

“It’s not over yet!” Even as he says that, though, he can feel his strength waning; his arm shakes, and Gareth already has the upper hand, quite literally. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep his neck unsliced, but it can’t be much longer.

“Therion-!” There’s a sudden burst of light, and a soft warmth around him begins to pull the weariness out of his body. He glances over briefly to see Ophilia praying softly, and gives a silent thanks before using his last burst of energy to push Gareth off of him and plunge his dagger in his chest.

He doesn’t wait for Gareth to stop moving before he stands up and starts heading for the exit into the desert; the others have long since finished their separate battles, but he ignores them in favor of staring out into the sands. Darius is long gone, and he expected as such, but it still makes his chest squeeze tightly in a mix of regret and anger. He still has a score to settle. He still has a price to pay.

But he doesn’t have the time to think of such things, and the promise of even more bandits coming after them forces him to act first and think later. “Let’s go,” he barks out as they set off outside the cavern; they can already hear the shouts of reinforcements, and don’t have any time to lose. “Towards the riverlands, and watch your step while you’re at it. The last thing we need is to leave a trail.”

Without another word, they all comply, and Therion sets off across the desert with them, knowing full well that the meeting today is just a prelude for whatever else is to come.

 

* * *

 

They move as a group and don’t stop until they’re halfway to Saintsbridge. Everybody is silent as stone until they reach the cover of the light forestry surrounding the city, at which point they finally decide to rest.

It’s not until they’ve found a small clearing to set up camp that Therion finally lets the physical and emotional exhaustion of the day wash over him. He almost collapses, but at the very least remains composed enough to lean against a thick tree trunk and sink down until he’s seated on the ground. The others leave him be as he sulks, setting up their supplies without bothering him- except for one particular person.

“That was more than we drafted in my contract, lad.”

“Sure wasn’t.” Therion sighs before looking up at Leon. “Try reading the fine print next time.” That earns a small laugh from the other, but it’s obvious that Leon is still uncomfortable, or at the very least nervous about Therion’s reactions for some reason. He doesn’t say anything in reply, and so Therion takes it upon himself to say something he really doesn’t want to.

“....thanks.” It’s hard to put his pride away for long enough to say that one word, and even after he does a feeling of irritation at himself for conceding anything to Leon still lingers over him. “For looking out for Phili. I......shouldn’t have pulled that on you.”

“What are you.....” He trails off as another set of footsteps joins them, and both of them turn to see Ophilia approaching them, coming to a stop awkwardly as they stare her down.

She clears her throat softly before addressing them. “Apologies, am I interrupting anything?”

“No,” Therion says before Leon can reply, and moves to sweep past her; however, she steps in front of him, and he raises an eyebrow at the sudden act of confidence. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all!” She waves her hands in front of her as if flustered, but that only makes him quirk his eyebrow higher. “I just wanted to talk to both of you, so....please don’t leave.” There’s doubt etched all over his face, but he steps back and crosses his arms as Leon steps forward to stand next to him. 

“Thank you,” she continues softly. “Both of you.”

Therion glances away; he’s still not used to the gratitude, even though they’ve expressed it towards him on several occasions. “Don’t worry about it,” he mutters. “It was my fault to begin with.”

Ophilia looks surprised at the admission, and he doesn’t blame her. It’s not every day that he takes the blame, even when it  _ is _ his fault. However, before she can say anything else, Leon clears his throat. “I don’t think any thanks is necessary when we’re all just looking out for each other, lass.” Despite addressing Ophilia, Leon’s words seem pointedly meant for Therion, and his eye twitches at the blatantly late reply to the thanks that Therion had given him before. “After all, you saved Therion as well, didn’t you?”

He nods at the memory, but his eyebrows draw together in confusion when Ophilia replies. “Well, yes, but that was on your command. I would never have noticed if you hadn’t said anything.”

“That’s just experience, lass. You did all the work.” Ophilia continues to make excuses even after Leon’s rebuttal, praising him for his efforts during the battle, and something uncomfortable rears its head in the pit of his stomach once more. He hates the feeling, has been hyper-aware of it ever since Primrose pointed it out, and he forces it down as he slips away.

His pity party doesn’t last forever, however, and a few minutes later, Leon comes up to him once again. He’s sitting near the edge of camp, leaning against a tree and picking idly at the grass around his feet. “We were wondering where you went off to.”

Therion ignores him for a moment, still grappling with his emotions. Finally, he sighs. “Thanks, but I’m fine without the search party coming after me.” It’s not that he’s not grateful - although why they should be worried about his whereabouts is beyond him - but seeing Leon gives him a sour taste in his mouth. “What about you? You seem to be having fun.”

“I rarely take a job where I don’t,” he replies, but it’s half-hearted, as if something else is on his mind. After the events of today, Therion would be more surprised if there  _ isn’t. _ “Tell me-”

“We should get washed off,” Therion interrupts him. It’s not something he wants to talk about now, and preferably not ever, so he deflects it with another suggestion. “Hey,” Therion calls over to where he sees the other guys of the group. “We need to wash.....” He trails off, however, as soon as he sees the state of the others.

Cyrus is fast asleep on the log as he leans against Olberic, the fight having taken more out of him than any of the other men; most of his exhaustion is mental, and as the spellcaster between the five of them, his exhaustion is harder to get rid of than just patching up a few wounds. Olberic, on the other hand, is still on high alert, even as Alfyn tends to his wounds; they’re not deep, but he has quite a few nicks and cuts. Even the Unbending Blade of Hornburg can’t fend off a whole swarm of dirty-playing rogues without a few scrapes here and there, and Alfyn checks thoroughly to make sure none of them are tainted with poison.

“Sorry, buddy,” Alfyn is the one to respond to Therion’s question, giving him an apologetic smile and putting his hands together in a pleading prayer. “D’you mind going without us just this once? We’re waiting ‘til Cy is awake.”

Therion is hesitant - going as a group would have ensured that any conversation they had couldn’t be private or personal - but eventually nods without a word. He glances over at Leon, who also agrees to the arrangement. “It’s safer in smaller groups,” he adds, and Therion has to wonder if Leon actually believes Therion can’t fend for himself, or if he’s saying it for the sake of the others. Regardless, though, Therion moves past him, towards the river, not noticing Leon’s faint frown as he follows shortly behind.

They walk silently down the river until they come to a small spring that they deem suitable enough for washing in. There’s a small outcropping with a short waterfall cascading down and Leon has no problem jumping onto the shore from the top of the outcropping, but Therion climbs down the hill next to it manually instead, and begins to unwrap his scarf to hang it on a nearby tree just as Leon finishes shedding his top layers.

He doesn't know what he expects to see on Leon’s back, but the roaring ocean rippling across his muscles isn't it. Waves break over each other, almost appearing to have a texture that ink alone can't provide. It takes a moment for him to realize that it  _ isn't _ ink alone; white crests are accentuated by wider, shallower grooves in the skin, while deeper cuts combine with deeper blue ink to create the hills of an ongoing storm. Everything is set in just a way that all of his wounds help create the scene of an angry sea.

It's art in human form, and Therion feels more self conscious than he feels comfortable with. His scars aren’t elegant or noble like Leon’s tattoos; they’re proof of a past that he wants to forget, the past that he still has yet to come to terms with- uncovered and ugly. But it’s not in his nature to dwell on his own misgivings, and so he instead snorts and addresses Leon directly. “You need to learn how to watch your back, Bastralle.”

“Aye, that I do.” Leon takes the comment in stride, almost sounding  _ amused _ at the advice as he undresses fully and steps into the spring. The water must be freezing, but Leon is either immune to the cold or a great actor because he makes no indication of the sort. “But those are old. I trust my crew to take care of me nowadays, and they haven't steered me wrong yet.” He turns back to study Therion, who’s still sitting on the riverbank. “How about you?”

Therion is unsure as to what Leon is referring, his state of undress or his tragic backstory, and so he pauses briefly, obliging neither. Finally, he settles on removing his mantle, setting it next to the tree where his scarf is already hanging next to Leon’s. “Don't need to worry about my back when people have no problem stabbing me from the front.”

Despite his casual tone, the atmosphere drops heavily, just like Therion expects, and he takes the moment in which Leon freezes to undress and hide himself in the deeper part of the lake, away from Leon. He's right; it  _ is _ freezing.

Neither of them say anything for a long while, which is fortunate for Therion seeing as he had intentionally tried to make the conversation awkward. He notices Leon peek at him every so often, but whether it's in an attempt to find something to say or as a question to why he's become so distant, he doesn't indicate either way. “You know,” Therion says finally, after what feels like the hundredth not-so-subtle glance in his direction, “it’s probably more polite to just stare.”

Leon looks away before responding with a question that throws Therion off guard. “Do you still hate me, lad?” He apparently hesitates for a moment too long - not because he doesn't know his answer, but rather he doesn't know how to  _ word _ it - because Leon speaks up again. “I appreciate that you looked out for me during that fight, but if you are still uncomfortable with my being here, you only have to say so.”

“It’s not that.” Therion voices his thoughts before properly formulating them in his mind, and what comes out is a sudden denial that still sounds fake, even to his ears. Still, it’s out in the open, and he has no choice but to run with it. “You're not a bad person.” He's not, and if Therion still thinks so after all this time, then he's an absolute idiot. He's nothing like the rumors about him paint him- in fact, if he didn’t still have the infamous name that earns him the reputation, Therion would take him for any other man trying to make a living. He's actually a decent person and honest man despite his upbringing, and that _ almost _ earns him Therion's respect.

Almost, because respect isn't something that Therion ever wants to admit he gives.

“Thank you,” is Leon's reply, although he sounds more confused than flattered. “Then why-?”

This time, Therion thinks for a moment before giving what sounds like, but most definitely  _ isn’t _ , a half-hearted answer. “It’s complicated.”

There’s a moment of what Therion assumes to be silence, filled only by the idle sounds of the water around them as he scrubs layers of sweat and sand off of his arms, before he realizes that the sounds are getting louder and turns to see Leon approaching him. He doesn’t move away, but rather sinks further into the water self-consciously; where it had reached his collarbone before, he now submerges himself to his chin.

He almost double-takes when Leon sinks to his level, crouching in the water and eyeing him in a way that makes him feel like it’s his first days with the group again and he’s being uncomfortably scrutinized by Cyrus as he dodges invasive questions from Alfyn. “Do you want to talk about it, lad?”

Therion blinks in surprise before looking away again. He had expected any question except for that one. “Not in particular.” However, he turns towards Leon once more when all he gets in return is a small chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“This is the most open you’ve been with me since I joined you lot.” He stands back up - they’ve unknowingly drifted into shallower waters, as the water laps at a set of scars around Leon’s torso - and rolls his shoulders, and Therion blatantly stares as the waves that wrap around his chest move with the motion. They’re much sparser than the waterscape painted on his back, but no less indicative of the scars that line them. “I apologize if I pushed you too far, boy.”

“You changed.” They’re both surprised by his sudden words, again, but this time Therion covers it up better, even if he still averts his eyes to hide his own hesitation. “Your morals, I mean. You stopped being a pirate after shit hit the fan.”

“That I did,” Leon agrees slowly, confusion lacing his words at first but followed by understanding slowly lighting his eyes. “Is there a problem with that?”

He doesn’t know how to explain himself- no, that’s a lie. He doesn’t know how to explain how he feels without making himself sound petty, and it irritates him to no end. “Yes,” he says simply. There’s a long pause, and Therion  _ knows _ that Leon is expecting something else from him, but he still refuses to look at, or even address the other for what feels like hours but is only a matter of moments. Finally, as uncomfortable as he is, he can’t help but blow some angry bubbles in the water before replying. “They expect me to be you.”

Leon seems taken aback by the response, and answers in kind. “I don’t think so.” That earns a disbelieving snort from Therion, and Leon frowns; it’s not the first time since they’ve met, but there’s a feeling to the look that Therion can’t quite recognize. “You’re their thief, lad, not their upstanding citizen. ”

Therion’s huff comes out as an array of bubbles as he sinks further into the water. “Right, because nobody would prefer it if I stopped breaking the law.” It’s petty jealousy, and he’s pushing his own luck by talking himself into a corner; Leon is better with words, and even his own protests are sounding less convincing to his own ears, but he’s still too stubborn to admit when he’s wrong.

“I’m far from an ideal and you know it,” Leon chides him, tilting his head as he stares down at him. “I’m _the_ Captain Leon Bastralle, aye, but how many people can say they respect me after seeing what I’ve done?” He frowns even more. “Ophilia’s a good lass, they all are, but people like them are few and far between. I’d reckon Aeber’s on your side to find a whole family like that.”

His eyebrow twitches at the word  _ family _ , but he says nothing; it’s not that he doesn’t see them as family - he doesn’t know what they are to him, at the very least, but they’re closer than anybody else he has, so he can’t rule it out - but rather that it’s annoying to know that somebody outside of the group can interpret him as  _ wanting _ that kind of relationship with them. Other than the irritation, however, he ignores the phrasing and instead tries to decipher the rest of the sentence. He knows that Ophilia is a good person, but the context just doesn’t make sense.

“What do you mean?” Therion can’t help but voice his question, and he barely resists the urge to cringe at his own curiosity. However, Leon doesn’t comment on it, and instead surprises him once more with a sincere answer.

“I mean they’re  _ your _ crew, lad. They like me because they don’t know my past, but they love you despite knowing yours.”

There’s an undecipherable quality in his voice that makes Therion finally look up at him, and the distance in Leon’s eyes makes him pause. He’s barely several feet away, but his eyes hold miles between them, as if searching for something other than Therion in the water.

After seeing Darius that very afternoon, after looking out into the desert and searching for something he doesn’t want to find but can’t live without, he thinks can understand the sentiment.

“....right.” Therion blows a few more stray bubbles into the water before standing up himself. They’ve drifted once more into shallower waters at this point, but the clear water still covers a good portion of his torso, and it’s hard to not notice how Leon’s eyes return to focus and seem to gaze straight at the distortions of his deepest scars before he breathes deeply and rests his hand gently on the top of Therion’s head as a comforting gesture.

“You’re a criminal, Therion, aye. I can’t deny that. But first and foremost you’re their friend, and nobody’s going to take that away from you. Don’t worry about me.”

The pat is brief and nonchalant, and Leon leaves without another word soon after, but Therion’s eyes remain closed after the fact as he tries to sort out the sense of sudden comfort in his chest. Kinship isn’t unfamiliar to him and it’s not necessarily unwelcome after the emotional roller coaster that the rest of the day had provided, but it’s been a long time since he’s felt it so strongly, and he has to steady himself before wading out of the lake to get dressed on the bank and eventually join the others back at their campsite.

He doesn’t think about it again until an hour later, when he’s seated at the campfire between Alfyn and Olberic with a mug of ale in his hands and loud, boisterous laughter echoing in both ears from another one of Leon’s tall tales, and he still can’t find it in himself to feel irritated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my name is Kiril, and I keep giving Therion unnecessary PTSD.
> 
> Comments are always greatly appreciated, and like always, feel free to scream at me on twitter [@homosethsual](http://www.twitter.com/homosethsual)!


End file.
